


embers never fade in your city by the lake

by somehowunbroken



Series: tonight, tonight [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 Memorial Cup, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: They did it. Theywon.





	embers never fade in your city by the lake

**Author's Note:**

> THE OTTERS WON THE J ROSS ROBERTSON AND ARE GOING TO THE MEMORIAL CUP AND I AM THE HUMAN EMBODIMENT OF NINETEEN EXCLAMATION POINTS.
> 
> ...i have no chill, y'all, but then you knew that.
> 
> appearances by several other otters. if you're not familiar with the team, just insert a tall boy with a bleach job that's growing out, and you'll have the basics well enough. my thanks to ari and to S. for reading this through at various points. title from [the smashing pumpkins' "tonight, tonight,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOG3eus4ZSo) because the song was playing during the on-ice celebration and that line is so good.

"We wonnnnnnn," Alex croons, smiling at anyone who'll stand still for long enough to see it, and a bunch of other people who are too excited, too joyous, to stand still. It doesn't matter if they see it or not, really. "We won!"

Someone crashes into his side, whooping; all he gets is a flash of yellow jersey and a fading dye job peeking out from under a hat before they're melting back into the crowd. Doesn't matter who. They _won_.

"Brinksy!" Foegs demands, appearing out of the crowd. "Hug me! We fucking did it!"

"MVP!" Alex yells back, throwing his arms around Foegs' waist. He holds on tightly for a second, two, three, as Foegs whoops against his hat, then pushes back. "Double or nothing in the Cup tournament."

"Hell fucking yes," Foegs crows, punching at the air, then shoving Alex's shoulder. "You said it, baby, let's do it."

The celebration is in full swing on the ice; they're passing the J. Ross Robertson around again, guys doing little spins on the ice with it before posing for pictures. There are family members everywhere; Alex left his parents talking to his billets. There are little kids, siblings or cousins or whatever, running around and begging whoever has the trophy to pose with them.

Nobody says no. Why would they? _They won._

"Brinksy!" Taylor calls, skating right into him. He wraps his arms around Alex and they go skidding a few feet before they stop. Alex is laughing, happiness buzzing right out of his skin, so he leans back and forces them into a spin. Taylor's laughing too, beaming at him and at the crowd. "Dude, can you even believe it?"

"Can I believe _you_ , you mean?" Alex teases, shoving at thim a little as they finally stop moving. "Mr. Last-Second Hatty. My hero!"

"I will drop you," Taylor threatens as Alex prepares to swoon.

"No, you won't," Alex predicts cheerily, going for it anyway. He's right; Taylor's laughing, but he keeps Alex from crashing to the ice. Alex flutters his eyelashes a few times before Taylor hauls him upright, shoving him away as soon as he's steady on his feet.

"Save that shit for someone who likes you even though you look like a werewolf who tripped and fell into a vat of bleach," Taylor says, laughing and pushing him again. "Pretty sure I saw someone matching that description over by Coach."

It's impossible to find specific guys on the ice; they're all moving around too much, and they all match. Finding the guys in suits is a lot easier. They stick out. Alex gives Taylor a salute and skates into the crowd, looking around for gray.

"Hey," he hears just as he spots Coach. He turns, smile already spreading over his face, and Dylan grins right back at him. "Holy fucking shit, Brinks."

"Oh captain, my captain," Alex says, jumping at him. Dylan catches him around the waist, laughing, and somehow they don't go tumbling down. Alex isn't sure why he was expecting them to; Dylan wouldn't ever let him fall, not if he could help it.

"You know that captain, like, dies, right?" Dylan says into Alex's cap. He's holding Alex tightly, and Alex squeezes just as hard. They've earned this, him and Dylan, but Alex thinks he wants it for Dylan more than he wants it for himself, somehow.

"You're better than that captain," Alex says dismissively. He's kind of yelling into Dylan's chest, because he's sure Dylan wouldn't be able to hear him otherwise. "You're _my_ captain. That gives you bonus points."

"Brinks," Dylan murmurs, bending his giant frame down so he can talk more directly into Alex's ear. "I couldn't—if you weren't—"

"You could anyway, and you didn't have to," Alex cuts in fiercely. He gets why Dylan gets down on himself sometimes; he can't imagine what he'll feel like if he ends up back here next season while Taylor moves on. It's all bullshit, though, and Alex has told him so plenty of times. He doesn't want to say he's secretly hoping for some sort of trade magic that would end up with them on a team together, but, well. He doesn't have to hear Dylan say it, either, to know they're both crossing their fingers for the same thing.

"But it's better with you," Dylan says, so quiet that Alex isn't sure that Dylan means for him to hear it. "Can't think of anyone I'd rather be here with."

 _Davo,_ Alex's mind immediately supplies, but thankfully he's got enough of a filter to keep that in. It's the old, jealous part of his mind, and he knows better. He knows better _now_.

"Same," he says instead of voicing any of that. "Any time, Stromer. All the time."

"The guys are gonna want to do something, go celebrate," Dylan says. He doesn't move away. "Is it bad that I kind of want to ditch them?"

"You can't," Alex says. He tilts his head back so Dylan can see him raising his eyebrows. "You're still the captain."

"I didn't say I _would_ ," Dylan says, pouting a little. "Just that I _want_ to."

"An hour," Alex says, poking the C on Dylan's chest. "Then we can ditch."

Dylan's face splits into a grin again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Alex confirms. He twists the back of Dylan's jersey in his hands, wishing they were somewhere else for just a second, or at least that there were fewer cameras around. From the way Dylan bites his lip, he knows they're on the same page. Alex forces himself to let go of Dylan's jersey and push away, giving Dylan a smile. "An hour. Then we'll let them all deal with each other."

He skates away before Dylan can say something really fucking sappy.

-0-

They go to Applebee's; the whole place erupts into cheers when they walk in, and Alex has always loved playing for the Otters, but he's always struck by how much he's grown to love Erie itself. The guys hoot and cheer and shove Taylor and Cirelli forward, and the cheering gets even louder for their heroes. The hostess lets them soak it all in for a little while before she leads them to the back.

They take over a bunch of tables; the seat next to Alex stays free, because everyone knows it's Dylan's, just as everyone knows he's gonna be on his feet most of the time, walking around and talking to everyone. He's such a captain, Alex thinks fondly as Dylan leans down to say something to Pettit at the next table. He'll probably sit down to eat, if only because Alex is gonna order him something that requires silverware, but otherwise he'll be moving the whole time.

Before they have the chance to order, some of the servers appear from the kitchen bearing more nachos than Alex has ever seen in the same place before. "Congratulations," one of the guys says, beaming at them. "Kill it in Windsor, you guys. This is from your adoring public."

"Whoa, really?" Darren says, clearly delighted. "That's awesome. That's so nice."

"I'm pretty sure only, like, four of you can drink," the guy replies. "They wanted to buy a round, but we told them we'd probably all get fired, so they settled on nachos."

"Thanks for the nachos," Taylor says, reaching for the plate. He grabs a loaded-down chip and shoves it in his mouth, giving the servers a thumbs-up.

The guy laughs again. "We'll pass it along."

Lods looks at the nachos, then points back to the dining room. "They paid for the nachos?"

"Yeah, a bunch of people chipped in," the guy says. The rest of the servers have split up amongst the tables, taking orders. "They're, uh. They're all really happy for you guys."

Lods grins and stands, and Alex considers stopping him before remembering that Lods is usually a pretty polite guy. Instead, he gets his phone out and hits record just in time to catch Lods lean out into the dining room and yell, "Thank you! The nachos are delicious!" before turning around and walking back to his seat.

"Never change, Lods," Alex says, clicking his camera off. "You're the best."

"I am," Lods says solemnly, then grins.

They manage to order eventually; it takes a while, but none of them really care. Dylan makes a face at the stir fry thing Alex ordered him, but Alex just raises an eyebrow; Dylan loves stir fry, and the only reason he's pouting now is because it's not even close to being a portable meal. "Fine," he finally mutters, sitting next to Alex and grabbing his fork.

"You wanted to ditch," Alex reminds him quietly, raising his other eyebrow. "Now that you're here, you don't want to stop talking to the guys."

Dylan hunches his shoulders a little. "Since when is that a bad thing?"

Alex shakes his head. "It's not. I'm just making a point."

"What point?" Dylan says. He's got a forkful of stir fry about an inch from his mouth, and he's probably twice as hungry as Alex is, but he just waits there.

"Eat your food," Alex says instead of answering. He's not sure how to, other than to say _you're allowed to like your teammates as much as you do, even if they're not the ones you thought you'd have._ He's not sure how Dylan would take that.

Dylan rolls his eyes, but he does as instructed.

They don't have a system set up or anything, but as Dylan gets to the end of his meal, guys drift over one by one to talk to him. Alex isn't keeping track, but he's willing to bet it's mostly guys Dylan hadn't had the chance to visit with while they'd been waiting for the food. They all have each other's backs. That's how this team thing works.

It's way, way more than an hour later before Dylan starts looking at the door. Half of the guys have left already; some of them headed home, but Alex is sure some are headed out to see if they can charm their way into a bar. It'll probably work tonight. He feels like they all might be invincible, able to do anything, at least until morning gets here.

"Can we," Dylan starts, glancing around.

"Yeah, I think so," Alex says, looking at who's left. All of the rookies are gone, and Alex knows for sure they're in good hands; Podds' billets had herded them all out together, so nobody has to worry about what they're getting up to. He nods after a moment. "Let's get out of here."

Dylan gives him a small, quick smile. "Best A in the league."

"I try," Alex says, smiling back as he stands. He waves at Maks and Timpy, then nudges Dylan. "Meet you?"

Dylan nods. "See you in a few."

Alex makes his way to his car and drives pretty much on autopilot; he says hi to his billets when he gets home, then heads upstairs to change. He hears Dylan arrive about fifteen minutes later and smiles when he walks in. "Who caught you?"

"Timpy," Dylan says, grinning a little. "Nothing bad. He just wanted to chat a little."

"Okay," Alex says. He's sitting on his bed, and he'd been playing with his phone until Dylan walked in. "What do you want to do?"

Dylan smirks at him, but then he yawns. Alex laughs and throws a pillow at his face.

"I'm allowed to be tired," Dylan protests, grinning a little. "We won."

It makes Alex smile impossibly wide. "We did it, Dyls."

"You and me," Dylan says. He looks—not younger, Alex doesn't think, but maybe less tired. Less worn out by everything. More like it's worth it again.

"Change and cuddle me," Alex says, going back to his phone. "Sleep now. I'm sure we can _celebrate_ tomorrow."

"This is why I like you best," Dylan informs him, stripping out of his shirt. He drops it on the floor, because he's a complete fucking slob, but Alex is used to it, to him. He concentrates on the very important game of Temple Run he just started so he doesn't do something mortifying like say that out loud.

It's not long before Dylan's ready to climb in. They don't really fit together; even though Alex is on the small side for a hockey player, Dylan's a goddamn giant, and they're both solidly built. They have a system, though, so Alex scoots until his back hits the wall while Dylan pours himself into the bed, and then Alex tucks himself against Dylan, pulling the sheet up with him. They've had enough practice that it moves sort of like clockwork, right down to the way Dylan's arm curls around Alex's back, holding him comfortably. Alex throws his arm across Dylan's stomach, and they lay there without saying anything for a minute.

"Hey," Dylan says quietly. "Alex. Guess what."

"Hmm?" Alex replies. He's already grinning into Dylan's shirt, because—

"We won," Dylan whispers into Alex's hair. "We won the Robertson. We're going to the Memorial Cup."

"You and me," Alex says, echoing what Dylan had said before. "We did it."

"You and me," Dylan agrees, pressing a kiss to Alex's temple. "We've got this."

"We do," Alex says, rubbing his thumb against Dylan's hip. "All of us. We're gonna do it, Dylan."

"We are," Dylan says, quiet but confident. "Happy you're here. Happy it's with you."

Dylan's falling asleep; he can sleep anywhere and at any time, so Alex isn't terribly shocked. He just closes his eyes and smiles a little as Dylan's breathing evens out. "Same," he says quietly, when he's sure Dylan's asleep.

He'll tell Dylan again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> -my immediate thought when cirelli scored: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhHHHHHH
> 
> -my second thought: what if i write dylan and brinksy ~~~celebrating?
> 
> -and then i wrote 2k of complete and utter fluff. forever and always myself, i guess.
> 
> -[follow me on tumblr](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com) for gifsets of this team jumping up and down while wearing knife shoes.


End file.
